The stages of grief

I’ve heard people talk about the five stages of grief in terms of dealing with a serious diagnosis for a child. You grieve for what they might have been, the loss of normalcy, the things you thought you could take for granted. I, for one, feel like I have gone through the stages of grief in varying degrees multiple times with each new issue that arises. I change from stage to stage in any given year, month, day, and even minute. From day C was born (and subsequently nearly died), we’ve been dealing with one thing after another. That’s not to say there haven’t been good days; happily, there have been many, many of those. But as each new issue started, I kept thinking “This will be it. This will be the last thing to happen.” I no longer say that to myself.

That sure doesn’t sound like Asperger’s Syndrome. I’m at a loss for words naturally, so reading this has my head spinning. I feel ashamed for so much of what I’ve complained about.

Believe me, it had my head spinning too. I had never put it all into one paragraph like that before, and it was sobering to say the least!

It’s funny that you say you feel ashamed for what you’ve complained about, because I often feel the same way when I talk to other parents whose children have medical and/or developmental issues. C is so happy, so bright, and is doing so well that I feel silly sometimes even voicing worries or concerns. So I guess it’s all relative, and we all have the right to our own feelings about these things.

Hi, I found your blog searching out stages of grief with child diagnosis. I wanted to let you know that I found it helpful, in expressing things I hadn’t figured out yet. Acceptance is sure hard, getting to the point where you can actually not panic while knowing “this probably won’t be the last issue” as something new crops up. The stress can eat away our own mental and physical health. So I hope I can get to the calmer acceptance stage soon. My son was Dx with tuberous sclerosis back in March. 10 years of having a “normal” kid sure made it hard to believe he could have something significantly wrong. You hate to wish to be one of the “lucky ones” because that seems to be hoping other people will take the harder burdens. And yet, we are thankful for each test that puts him on the “mild” end of the spectrum.

I hope you keep writing, and inspiring others!

Wow.Thank you. I just sent you an email, so please check there for my response! Bless you!